


and all i lov’d, i lov’d alone.

by sunlighterasure (orphan_account)



Series: shizaya [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Child Neglect, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Orihara Izaya-centric, and i jump at any chance to conjure up plenty of angst, i vibe with misunderstood antagonists, idk drabble ig, no beta we die alone in the graves we dug, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sunlighterasure
Summary: title is from the poem “alone” by edgar allen poe! go read it :)
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo & Orihara Izaya, Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya, Orihara Izaya & Orihara Kururi, Orihara Izaya & Orihara Kururi & Orihara Mairu, Orihara Izaya & Orihara Mairu
Series: shizaya [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721872
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	and all i lov’d, i lov’d alone.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the poem “alone” by edgar allen poe! go read it :)

> “solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasp the heart and makes it ache with sorrow.”

—khalil gibran, _the broken wings_

* * *

izaya was built to be an informant. well, built is a generous term for his upbringing that resulted in said career, maybe risen. not raised. risen, a self-fulfilling prophecy, a cyclical sickness.

never receiving attention turned into not needing it because that was easier than wanting it and not getting it. becoming attuned to what isn’t said and what’s expected to be done, taking care of one’s own needs as a child, being too familiar with the staples of the shelves in a pantry and how to not be greedy. obedience, complimented as “mature” as if there’d be anything but backlash if it was any less. round red eyes blinking unfazed at the mention of death and afterlife, just another phase of what’s to come, another thing to prepare to be alone in. 

there’s no need to be afraid if you can’t stop it, acceptance is the quickest and most painless way out of it.

he wasn’t sure which was worse: the silence or the words of someone far too familiar with his heart to be treading so recklessly. the months without seeing his mother were manageable, didn’t start to ache until she texted him on when her next flight home would be, like how you don’t miss the daffodils until the snow begins to melt and then they’re all you can think about. in those moments before she unlocks the front door, izaya wonders how he could ever resent his mother, could ever want anything but her attention, even if it was harsh criticism.

and then kyouko comes back to that cold empty house and shuts the door quietly, doesn’t announce her arrival, just acts as if this is the normal routine for the both of them. no questions about his day, just one “how are your grades?” that is satisfied by a “same as usual,” which means they’re perfect but that’s not something to be proud of, to be congratulated for by his endearing mother, but rather an expectation to be met without hesitation. no clap on the back for maintaining them, only the silent threat in the case that they drop below excellent.

her comment comes when izaya jokingly tries to ease the tension, paint the scene to something closer to real rather than scripted, forced. looking back, he can’t even remember what set her off, only that it wasn’t anything he didn’t already know.

“izaya, i know i’m not a perfect parent but i work all day providing for you. it could be worse. you have a house over your head and fridge stocked with food and an education. that’s plenty more than a lot of kids get. be thankful for what you have instead of always complaining about what you don’t,” a tired sigh accompanies kyouko’s self-proclaimed martyrdom. his heart sinks, not in disappointment, but in a reprimand towards himself for thinking it’d ever be different. as if izaya’s mother would ever stop drowning him in guilt when he asks for a chance to catch his breath.

those few moments of catching up quickly turn sour, not that they’d been sweet to begin with, and izaya decides that he’d much rather suffer alone in silence than with kyouko’s aggravating crusades. 

when his sisters come bustling in after being dropped off from daycare, izaya isn’t sure if he’s jealous or relieved. mairu and kururi babble on about their day, or well, mairu does most of the barely coherent talking, but kururi makes up for it in incessant tugging of kyouko’s blouse and vigorous nodding to pair mairu’s excitement. scoffing internally, izaya swallows the bitterness that washes over him when faced by the fact that he’d never get away with this type of behavior when he was younger; a scolding shake and prying of his tiny, stubby hands from busy adults and being left to occupy himself. 

as he looks at the three, izaya decides he’s grateful that the twins have this part of their mom, even if he never had it; not that he’d ever share such a mushy sentiment with them, that was far too vulnerable for the orihara family’s liking.

the siblings’ whole dynamic depends on the complete avoidance of “i love you”s and is found in the routine they hold. how izaya patiently braids mairu’s hair in the morning even when she’s squealing to put on her new shoes. how he cuts the crust of kururi’s toast because she can’t stand it any other way but won’t spare her few words on grumbling over such a minor inconvenience. how the twins plead and beg for izaya to watch their favorite tv show in the evening before bedtime, even though they all know he makes sure his homework is done by then so he can watch their faces break into grins when he finally relents and hands over the remote.

* * *

izaya is always, always listening. even when he shouldn’t be, especially when he’s not supposed to be. it comes, as discussed, with raising oneself and then attempting to do better with his sisters. he never quite realized how lonely, how sad his childhood was until he saw how they turned out. wondered if maybe he could’ve been someone ikebukuro didn’t hate, someone shizuo didn’t want to twist and pummel and shred and _kill_ , if only. his sisters did have an older brother to count on, at least. more than izaya ever had, not that he’d ever want to take away what little mairu and kururi did have to begin with. 

blending in with the shadows comes naturally, practically born a chameleon, so transparent only because people are so self-absorbed that they choose to ignore what isn’t screaming confrontation, but izaya isn’t complaining. certainly makes his job easier, if not a little boring. it becomes a game, another tactic to master and then use to one’s own benefit. 

occasionally, izaya sees how far he can push it before the risk of losing actually catches up to him. that occasionally becomes an always when talking about shizuo, but he never does catch up with him. until he does. 

even that, though, is within the plans. an inevitable ending, another step in the vegetable myth, nothing to be dreaded solely because it could never be anything but. 

shizuo would always be his end. the one person who devoted time only to him, tunnel visioned to izaya and izaya only, so can you really blame him for testing the limits? being killed wasn’t an end, it was merely the finish line, the next. the only thing izaya craved but convinced himself he didn’t need, didn’t want, would always be his demise.

the nonhuman, the beast, the monster. it’s only fitting that shizuo would lie waiting at hell’s gates, ready to land the final blow to send izaya to his grisly grave below. the one person to ever really take izaya for all he was, to see it all and not flinch, not look down in petulance, saw all of the informant broker’s horrid schemes and hated _izaya_. 

there was no silence with shizuo. that loud yell of his name echoed off the buildings in ikebukuro, looped in izaya’s head like a chant when he found himself too isolated and unoccupied to keep his mind at bay. with shizuo, punches weren’t pulled in fear of permanent damage, they were made for that exact purpose. to maim, to alter, to change.

the two get what they want and they all lived happily ever after! shizu-chan finally has peace and izaya proves what a disgusting animal lives in ikebukuro! and that’s as far as the happy ending goes because shizuo doesn’t want peace if it means always being paranoid, looking over his shoulder for someone he thought he wanted dead. the blonde can’t figure out if the hollow quiet that’s settled over the city bothers him because he regrets letting izaya prevail in that finale or guilt in mangling someone up as badly as he did to the flea, even if izaya did deserve it.

perhaps it’s something else, shinra suggests. “oh the longing! the pining! the yearning!” to which shizuo rolls his eyes as celty softly knocks shinra over the head. it didn’t make any sense—wanting the very person he’s been trying to drive out for years to come back—and shizuo only got more frustrated trying to untangle the messy feelings inside.

recovering from the fight left izaya a fool. that word, _recovering_ , was funny because it implied getting back what one once had; izaya wasn’t sure he’d ever hold onto ikebukuro the same as before, considering he could barely hold a coffee cup without spilling it all over the place.

all izaya has proven was that shizuo was the most human out of all of them. who ever said monsters couldn’t be men?


End file.
